Damien
The vehicle door opened with a hiss of hydraulics, and I stepped out into the cold.
Frost blooming across the steps of the capital like the bite of a forgotten god. Pale-armored guards lined the entrance, eyes sharp beneath polished helms. Their spears gleamed in the weak winter sun. The palace loomed above — tall, pristine, and smug in its permanence.
I adjusted my coat, gave a nod to the guards, then turned back toward the car. The door remained open, Ayla silhouetted within.
I extended a hand. She took it — eventually — with the elegance of a woman raised in a court and the grip of someone who wanted to break something. Her fingers curled tight around mine, tension vibrating in her wrist, her jaw, her narrowed eyes. But she stepped down smoothly. Regal. Controlled. As she wa
